


The Usual Mode of Communication

by Naeshira



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Epikegster, Friendship, Gen, Hockey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-23
Updated: 2015-03-23
Packaged: 2018-03-19 05:19:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3597837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naeshira/pseuds/Naeshira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some scenes of O'Meara and Wicks, through their usual mode of communication: the fist bump.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Victory

_Victory_ :

They were not a special team. Ollie and Shitty and Wicks were good, they were third line, but they weren’t a special team. In a power play situation like this, they’d usually be on the bench. But here they were, Yale on a tripping penalty and Ollie with the puck in the corner.

One of Yale’s goons was in front of him, switching his stick from side to side, trying to block his passing lanes. Wicks was beyond him, in front of the goal. He was shoulder to shoulder with a defenseman, not-so-subtly elbowing each other. Shitty had circled out by the blue line and tapped his stick on the ice before skating back in down the center. 

Ollie faked a shot, causing the defenseman in front of him to take a knee to block it. He switched the puck to his other side and passed it. Shitty beat his man and shot at the goal, using Wicks and his d-man as a screen. Wicks moved his stick and tipped the puck in just above the goalie’s glove. Samwell – 4. Yale – 2.

The horn sounded and the crowd screamed. Shitty threw his arms up and practically tackled Wicks into the boards, shouting pleased profanity into his ear. Ollie skated across the ice to join them. Wicks’ fist was already waiting, and Ollie punched it before throwing his arms around both of them. 

~

“My linemates are the _absolute tits_!” Shitty was crowing, an arm around each of them. The Haus was once again hosting a kegster, celebrating three straight home wins. Shitty was steering them towards Ransom and Holster, who stood prepared with alcohol. 

Wicks was technically the one who deserved the keg, but the two went together; like Ransom and Holster, or Shitty and Lardo. They were a duo, so Ollie got shoved forward too. 

A while later, the two staggered towards the couch, the party still raging on around them. Hands patted their backs, and beers got shoved into their hands. 

“Bro.” Wicks said loudly in his ear. “Bro, ‘swawesome party, right?”

“So totally ‘swawesome.” Ollie replied. It took them a couple tries, but they managed to get a successful fist bump.


	2. Agreement

_Agreement_ :

Ollie questions why he decided to major in engineering. He questions it every time he has to suffer through his fluid dynamics homework, which is now spread across the entire surface of a table in the library. He’s got his head down on his book when he hears someone tap on the table. 

“Bro?” Wicks’ face looks vaguely concerned, and he’s holding a set of textbooks in his arms. 

Ollie just grunts at him and condenses his mess to half of the table. Wicks sits down next to him and starts working on his own reading, something for his pre-veterinary classes. 

They work for a good hour and a half, before Ollie’s phone beeps in his pocket. It’s a team email from Bitty, letting them all know that he’s been teaching the frogs how to bake. There are currently three pies cooling in the kitchen. First come, first serve.

Ollie nudges Wicks and shows him the email.

“Fucking love Bitts.” Wicks remarks. Neither of them can really complain that Bitty got dibs last year, because it honestly benefits the whole team. 

A text from Bitty pops up on Ollie’s phone. _There’s pecan, pumpkin, and apple. I know you like pumpkin, so I didn’t let the frogs mix ingredients!_ Ollie can’t help but grin at his phone. He doesn’t remember ever telling Bitty that he was allergic to nuts. But Bitty knows. Bitty is magic when it comes to food, so of course he knows. 

He texts back _We’re on our way =D_. 

Wicks is already packing his homework into his backpack. “You good?” he asks, gesturing at the mess that is Ollie’s notebooks.

“Chyeah.” Ollie shrugs. He’ll be better with some pie in his stomach. And it’s a good time to take a break anyway. He haphazardly stuffs his work in his bag before standing up. “Haus?”

“Haus.” Wicks agrees. They bump fists and head out.


	3. Defeat

_Defeat_ :

Their game against Dartmouth doesn’t go as planned. They’re tied at one until the third period, and Ollie’s pretty sure there’d be all-out fights if it weren’t for how near they are to winter break. Neither team can afford to lose anyone in this final rush of the semester, and they all know it. That doesn’t stop them all from shouting abuse across the benches though. 

They’re throwing everything at the net, out-shooting Dartmouth, but not getting through their wall of a goalie. The defensemen are jumping up on the play; Holster’s already had one ping off the crossbar, just missing by inches. 

It’s Nursey’s turn this time. Ollie’s line shifts onto the ice as Nursey takes his time, weaving the puck up through the zone. He shoots, and Shitty gets a rebound, and then there’s a scuffle in front of the net. The puck’s still free, but then it’s not. A bad turnover, a long pass down the center, and Ollie can hear Dex swearing a blue streak as he’s backing up against two Dartmouth forwards who are aiming for the Samwell net. 

Ollie’s racing back. He’s fast, but not Bittle-fast. He barely makes it in time. He’s reaching, and his stick gets in the way just enough to botch the guy’s shot. The puck goes wide of the net and Ollie’s racing to the corner. He gets to the puck first but Dartmouth’s forward slams him into the boards. 

Then Nursey’s back, and between the two of them, they manage to get possession. But it’s not for long. They get a bad bounce, and Dartmouth scores, Chowder’s knee pad missing the puck by mere centimeters. 

There’s only a couple minutes left in the game and they give it their all, but Dartmouth wins, 2-1. 

The bus ride back to Samwell is quiet. Everyone is frustrated. They know if anyone complains they’ll all start yelling, and they’re too tired for that. They played well, and they knew it. They should have won. 

Ollie and Wicks sit together, near the back of the bus, like always. They don’t normally talk much, but now even their usual silence is stifling. Ollie shifts in his seat, turning towards his line mate. Wicks has his baseball cap low and is glaring at the seat in front of them. 

“Dude.” Ollie says quietly. He’s got his fist out. 

Wicks sighs, before uncrossing his clenched arms to bump fists. He relaxes back into the seat. “Yeah.” He says, acknowledging Ollie’s unsaid statement. This isn’t a victory fist bump. It’s an _I got your back_ fist bump.


	4. Chapter 4

_Friendship_ :

Epikegster is crazy. It’s the absolute craziest and Ollie’s honestly surprised the campus cops haven’t been called on the Haus yet. He and Wicks have Nursey hoisted on their shoulders, and he’s swaying worryingly over their heads. 

There’s a swell in the noise of people as someone wins a game of pong, and Ollie can see the idea form in Wicks’ mind before he ever says it out loud. He braces a hand on Nursey’s leg and reaches up behind him to grab the back of the defenseman’s tank top. 

“Incoming frog!” Wicks shouts, somehow his voice rising above the beat of whatever music Holster has pounding through the speakers. “Lift him up, CROWDSURF!” 

And then Nursey is getting shuffled off their shoulders and a group of football players lift him over. Ollie and Wicks throw their hands up, cheering loudly in success.

Ollie reaches for Dex, intending to lift him up next, but the ginger maneuvers out of his reach. “No, no, no.” Dex is saying, and he’s grabbing onto Chowder’s hoodie. Chowder is looking excited to get crowd surfed, and, okay, Ollie is sober enough to know that’s not the best idea. 

Ollie lets Dex drag the goalie away. He goes up on tip-toes and steadies himself with a hand on Wicks’ shoulder. Dex’s bright hair is easily followed through the crowd, closely trailed by the faded teal of Chowder’s hat. They’re headed for the hallway, which is good because Nursey is floating in that direction too. 

Ollie taps Wicks on the shoulder and Wicks straightens up to watch. Nursey is dropped out of view in the hallway, and Dex and Chowder both disappear with him, likely trying to catch their friend and collapsing beneath him in the process. Ollie’s giggling then, and he’s pretty sure it’s half to do with the tub juice. 

It’s definitely the tub juice, he decides half an hour later, when he’s feeling more sick than happy. There are too many people in the Haus, and Ollie can’t escape upstairs like Jack and Bitty have. There’s beer spilled down his pant leg, his shoes feel sticky, and he’s been stepped on, jostled, and elbowed enough to bruise. Ollie’s pretty sure there are more people in the Haus than there were in his entire high school, and it’s making him feel pretty claustrophobic. 

He fights his way out to the porch, waving at Shitty and Lardo and grabbing another cup of tub juice. Maybe if he gets drunker, he’ll enjoy this more. He’s just getting his head back when he feels someone bump into him, definitely less steady on their feet than usual.

“Dude.” Wicks throws an arm around him, one part friendly and one part trying to gain his balance back. “Bros don’t let bros stumble home alone, dude.” 

“I’m not stumbling, you are.” Ollie insists, and he stands up straighter to prove it. 

Wicks looks insulted for a moment, and then seems to realize that he’s having trouble trying to grab the porch railing. He starts laughing and says, “Yeah. Damn tub juice.” 

“Bro,” Ollie starts, unsure if they’re both too drunk to understand each other like normal, “bro, I gotta stumble home now. Like, there’s too many people here, you know?”

Wicks blinks at him, and Ollie realizes that he’s never actually said that many words to him before. “Bros don’t let bros stumble home alone.” Wicks repeats, and then he’s grinning because he didn’t slur it too badly.

They make their way down to the street, and it’s not until they’re a block away that the music fades out behind them. The quiet and the cold air sober them up enough to be able to walk with some kind of dignity. And suddenly Ollie’s talking.

He’s telling Wicks about his old high school, and how he’d never been to a drunken house party until Samwell. And he’s telling Wicks about his old Irish grandparents, and why he has each charm on his key ring. 

And Wicks is talking too. He’s telling him about the woods behind his house that he’d play in with his sister. He’s telling him about the pond that iced over every winter but he was always too afraid to skate on it, thinking he’d fall through.

And Ollie’s telling Wicks why he has both a love and a hatred for engineering. He’s telling him about that time he broke his leg when he was ten and cried because he thought he’d never play hockey again.

And Wicks is telling him about how he’d always wanted to be a goalie, but he had had trouble skating with knee pads on.

They’re back to the dorms and Wicks has fallen over laughing because of Ollie’s story about his grandparent’s old dog back home. Ollie’s trying to drag him up the steps, but they’re both too drunk to coordinate any movement, so he gives up and plops down next to him on the grass. 

It’s late enough in the night that the streets are basically empty, and Wicks happily points out a stray cat that wanders across the street. He’s drunk off his ass still, but has enough presence of mind to declare the animal’s binomial Latin name. It’s _felis catus_ , which is so simple that it has Ollie giggling again. 

They fall quiet finally, sitting side-by-side on the grass outside their dorm building. Ollie is exhausted; speaking so much has drained him of whatever energy he had left after the party. He’s wondering how uncomfortable he’d be in the morning if he just fell asleep here when Wicks leans over and bumps his shoulder with his own.

“’Swawesome night?” Wicks asks, and Ollie realizes that they’re back to their usual mode of communication. Wicks is asking if he’s feeling better now he’s out of the crowd and technically back home.

And Ollie is feeling better. He’s in a sleepy drunk mood now; content with sitting in the grass, and with the quiet, and with his best friend. He smiles at Wicks and answers, “’Swawesome night, bro.” 

They bump fists and, despite being too drunk to get up the stairs, their aim is perfect.

**Author's Note:**

> And there we go! Some fist-bump friendship fic. 
> 
> I had to add little bits of character to what little we know about these two, so there's that. 
> 
> Hope you guys enjoyed it! =D


End file.
